


A Selfish Wandering Tourist

by Eilwen



Series: A Tourist and A Native [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, New York City, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 14:11:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9075310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eilwen/pseuds/Eilwen
Summary: It's OK to be a little selfish. Newt wanders into a bakery, attends a book-signing, tends to his creatures and meets with Tina to discuss the future of their relationship over sandwiches.(Also, Newt's little walking tour of 1920s Lower Manhattan in 16 Hours.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am distracting myself from my graduate studies in busting out this fic. Ideally this would be multi-chapter and longer, but I know that if I made it so, I probably would not get past chapter 2 before work catches up with me.

Tina Goldstein hides her figure beneath modest and practical loose clothing. She fits the fashion of the time to some degree – her little hat that takes the shape of her head, her coat that seems just a tad too big for her and beneath it, a blouse and a pair of trousers that gives her an almost masculine look. When she removes her clothes, her feminine curves and delicate features are admittedly easy to look at. There’s a dainty mole on her back – which she hadn’t ever noticed until it was pointed out to her. Her shoulders seem lower, as if with the confines of cloth she’s stiff. It’s the shoulder pads, she says, but he knows there some release of tension whenever they are together in bed.

He thinks this as he watches her. She sits at the edge of the bed, putting on her socks before her lingerie. He suspects she does this because she enjoys being naked around him and being observed by him – so she lingers to put on her shoes first before the rest of her clothing.

“I have to leave.” She says after some time, with the final touch of that hat on her head.

He doesn’t say anything at first until... “Oh... yes, of course.”

“Would you like to come to my place tonight? Or would you prefer if I come back?”

His eyes drift to the wall behind her briefly – her stare can sometimes be intimidating – but they fall somehow back to looking straight at her.

He sits up. “I’d like if you’d come back. But only if it’s not any trouble for you.” He suggests this only because he knows her sister can be a little too prying sometimes, though not maliciously so.

Tina smiles a bright smile and says, “All right, I’ll come back. I'll see you at lunch.”

And then she vanishes, leaving him alone. He can’t tell what’s more scandalous: him in her apartment, where no male guests are allowed, or her in his hotel room. Not that their relationship is particularly secretive but neither of them are fond of gossip.

To everyone else, their courtship is rather chaste. In many ways it is. They seem to skirt around each other whenever they are surrounded by familiar faces and their conversations in public are usually without sexual insinuation. Even months into their relationship, their actions are equally awkward though sweet. They are honest with each other, but somehow have managed to skip a large chunk of the dating scene easily falling into a comfortable relationship. With him mostly in England and her mostly in New York City, their courtship is via letters and brief visits. Despite appearances, their physical attraction for each other was made clear quickly though with nervous apprehension.

They had fallen very easily for each other – something that surprised them both. Tina at first was frustrated with herself for this (something she admitted to him). She used to roll her eyes at Queenie’s flirtations and frequent dates while she was fonder of the slow and steady race. Tina’s first boyfriend was in Ilvermorny. They broke up after a few months, and she shook it off and moved on. So, the sudden pull towards Newt was foolish and uncharacteristic. It happened only after a few days of meeting him, after she arrested him, dragged him to MACUSA twice, all while in a blur of American Wizarding political drama. But the touch of her hair at the New York Harbour broke her and she knew things would never be the same. 

For Newt, his perspective was different – his own heart was still repairing itself from a previous romance (though it had been several years) and he was fully aware of his own behaviours around humans. It must have been the scent of the strudel that day they met. Queenie must have drugged him with something in the aroma (a poor joke, he admits). When he looked across the table to a quiet Tina, he thought she was rather pretty. It was a briefly shallow but noteworthy thought; he hadn’t thought any woman to be pretty in years. The more time they spent around each other, the more he understood her and wanted to know more about her. He at first likened her to an Opaleye. Rough around the edges but a soft internal instinct to protect what was dear. Tina hadn’t taken the comparison as flattery.

They don’t have too much in common – their cultures are different, their interests are different, their personalities are different – but they complement each other in an unexpected way. And very quickly, their relationship moved from friendship to shy romance to actualised romance to actualised romance with sexual interaction.

Newt stares at the ceiling with the slight smile on his face.

He dresses quickly, flicks open his case and steps inside. A few new creatures are now added to the collection, and a few were released back into the wild. Newt is entirely aware of his own attachment issues – he wants the best for his creatures but it’s a dangerous path to begin naming them. Still, he dubbed a new baby Graphorn ‘Dagney’, he calls himself mum and he talks to nearly all animals as if they were domestic animals. Magical creatures, he argues, tend to be of higher intelligence than non-magical ones, so they are able to properly distinguish the wild from the human world. It does not diminish their curiosity (which can easily lead them into trouble), but rehabilitation is much easier in regards to their adaptation to the environment.

His first task is to water the plants in his little shed. His second task is to feed every animal and do a very quick checklist. His third task is to examine wounds and gauge who might need healing and who might be ready to be re-released back wherever. His current stay in New York is another transit stop, this time to the swampy marches in Louisiana, but he made a note to specifically stop at New York City for several days to visit Tina and Queenie, even though he knew there were much more efficient ways to travel. His book was doing rather well anyway so he made a promise to a local bookstore on Fourth Avenue to do a book signing.

A Dugbog lurks in his swampy habitat. Its eyes glare at Newt with ultimate distrust. Unlike his other creatures, the Dugbog, affectionately named Stephen, is not trusting of humans. Newt isn’t one to force any unwanted affection on him but his words are still as motherly and loving to it as to other beasts in the case.

He rolls up his sleeves, fits his gloves on and grips Stephen’s – tilting the log-like animal to examine its limbs. 

Stephen splashes about madly.

“Now, now, I just want a quick look.” He checks the gash in its belly – healing well though still a little tender. Stephen chomps onto his glove, which was charmed to withstand crushing force. Newt notes silently that Stephen’s bite is not as strong today as it was yesterday. He wonders if this means Stephen is growing to like him or if it is physically becoming weaker.

Newt positions himself in front of the beast, his trousers soaking and muddy now as he stands in the swamp, and pries Stephen’s mouth open. A quick examination of its mouth, its eyes and its skin gives the OK.

“I guessing you and I are starting to become friends,” Newt says.

Stephen gurgles and waddles away stubbornly.

Newt knows the case is still not allowed in New York City (technically), but with a good exchange between the British Ministry of Magic and the MACUSA and of course, his own growing fame, Newt sneakily fought for a relaxation of the law on his behalf. Firstly, he travels not only to promote his book but also to continue his beast-rescue mission. Secondly, he is an educator, he argues – and an educator must be able to show examples of these creatures to the ignorant. Thirdly, he convinced the Ministry of Magic that he must be granted an international pass to ensure that he is still a documentarian of magical beasts (that is, unless they don’t want to see a second edition of his very popular book any time soon).

 _“You just want to be around them,”_ Tina said when he listed his reasons during his previous visit.

 _“Yes, well, ‘I want to be around them’ is not a very good excuse to travel with my case unless you’d like to arrest me again,”_ was his response.

It was that same week after they had this conversation, when he came across Stephen in the Gowanus Canal in Brooklyn, far from his natural habitat. When Tina entered the case that night and found a new habitat built for an unexpected guest, Newt couldn’t help but give a guilty and knowing grin to an exasperated Tina.

So Stephen is here in his suitcase until his full healing.

Newt quickly cleans each little habitat of droppings and damage, says good-bye to each creature (after double checking that the Niffler hasn’t somehow sneaked out again – _Is that Tina’s wristwatch?!_ ) then climbs out of his case and closes the latches.

He checks the clock by his bedside table: 10:20 AM.

* * *

Tina and Queenie’s apartment is in Chelsea, New York City, so after Newt’s return to the city he quickly grabbed a hotel close by – a simple one only a block away from the growing infamous Hotel Chelsea. This is many years before the hotel’s skyrocketed popularity with famous singers and pop art artists but Mark Twain’s stay is enough to give the hotel an unofficial landmark stamp during Newt’s visits. As Newt passes the known façade, with its red brick and iron wrought balconies, he glances up at the windows, somehow guessing of the future. New York City is a curious city, he thinks. Muggles - sorry, _No-Maj’s_ can have just as interesting lives as wizards.

Newt knows Tina’s path to work is quickest through the subway, but he talks his time to walk instead. He has his case in his hand. With the book-signing event in the afternoon, Newt thought it might be charming to actually live up to the title of ‘educator’.

He remembers the first time he took the subway with Tina: the screeching sound of the subway grinding into the station, and Tina’s arm locked around his. London has its own transit system, but New York’s City’s train is a little newer and somehow it already has a dingier look. Newt and Tina spent many afternoons discussing the differences between the magical community in Britain versus the United States, but sometimes his blunt observations were just a little _too_ blunt.

_“I can’t imagine that your interstate terminals are much nicer. Though the city itself presents very interesting architectural details. Have you heard much about the Chrysler Building’s construction? The blue prints are rather incredible. But I do say your trains need a bit of work.”_

_“I’ll have you know Mr. Scamander, that we have very nice train stations.”_

He shut up once he saw Grand Central Terminal. He asked, with his eyes pointing upwards in curiosity at the zodiac in the green ceiling, if this was the station she would take to Ilvermorny.

Tina explained to him that trains to Massachusetts were at the grander Pennsylvania Station across town.

Newt’s attention snaps back into the present when a busker approaches him.

“Got any coins, mistah?” He leans a little too forward as Newt leans a little too back.

Newt’s mind works in overtime attempting to remember the exact nomenclature of Muggle money.

“Oh hm... I’m so sorry. I’m just a wandering tourist.” 

“Your coat’s pretty nice, tourist.” The beggar tugs on the blue coat lightly. When Pickett’s head slowly pops out of the pocket, Newt’s hand instinctively goes up to hide it. 

“Here, would this work?” Newt slips a Galleon into the beggar’s hand, immediately thinking of the currency exchange from British to American money and from Wizard to non-Wizard money. “I’m sorry, I haven’t got any money that might be worth anything for you,” he says before carefully slipping through the pedestrian sea to continue his walk.

He hears a distant _“Wait, is this real gold?”_

At this point he is in Greenwich Village – alive with bohemians and away from the business-stiffness that seems to be encroaching upon Chelsea. Most of Lower Manhattan is low. Buildings do not extend upwards as yet until past Canal Street. The streets are a little more charming than in Chelsea, with Federal style here, Brownstone there, unusually unpretentious – as if the hungry artists chased out the elites who may have resided here.

He passes theatres which famous Muggles frequent. He passes the Whitney Studio Club where students run out with large sheets of charcoal covered drawing paper (he notices their charcoal drawings do not move). He passes Washington Square College – a branch of New York University and keeps moving. He wanders a little – he likes the flair of Greenwich Village, enough for him to divert a little to walk alongside the edge of Washington Square Park.

These particular Muggle landmarks do not register in his mind. Instead his eyes almost search curiously for the seedy restaurants. Since his visit to The Blind Pig many moons ago, his attention for the hidden speakeasy-esque little joints is high whenever he’s in the Village. It’s strange to him for wizards to live so secretly from the Muggle/No-Maj world. It’s as if they are the same as the mice in the city, who must scurry at the possibility of a flashlight shining into their eyes. At the same time, the Muggles who drink must hide their liquor and sneak their weakness in remarkable and ridiculous ways. The United States clearly is in an era of odd paranoia.

He thinks he spots a possible Goblin disappearing near a barbershop, but he keeps walking. He knows that the longer he lingers, the later he’ll be for his lunch date.

* * *

“You didn’t take the subway? Or apparated?”

“I like walking.”

“You’ve been here so many times, Newt. Do you walk in London this much as well?”

“I believe in taking time to understand something different, don’t you think? You begin to notice things you otherwise wouldn’t. Like her...” He leans forward and points to Tina’s lips. Her tongue sticks out and licks the doughnut powder on her upper lip. “... weakness for unhealthy foods.” His thumb touches her face anyway to brush the remaining white dust away. “Are you still hungry for lunch?”

Tina giggles and takes his hand. “With you, I’ll _have_ to do lunch.”

The Woolworth Building stands close to a nearby deli – Tina’s favourite lunch time go-to in Manhattan (though her absolute favourite deli in somewhere in Brooklyn). The stalls smell of preserved meat and the butcher is familiar with Tina. Tina is friendly but the stiff politeness in the conversation indicates the magical/non-magical separation between seller and customer to Newt. Tina graciously takes her sandwich and she and Newt sit at a nearby park bench with a view of the City Hall Park. Pigeons flock en masse around older women. 

Newt carefully opens his own sandwich – roasted vegetables. Very simple. They chat initially over her work: private investigations opened in Upper East Side regarding some illegal activity near the art museums. Someone, she says, is looking to conspire with the subject of a magical painting to steal known particular artworks for the black market. There may be some dark magic involved with the museum curators with the possibility of illegal overseas trade, which is why Aurors have been brought onto the scene so suddenly.

“I’m guessing,” she continues, “that the final outcome is to switch a magical painting for a non-magical painting after it’s sold. The act might blacklist him but his reputation might skyrocket and might increase the value of the actual painting by a lot.”

He asks how she might assume this. She says it’s because of his record in art forgery.

“We interrogated the subject in the painting a little about it, but she isn’t saying too much.”

The conversation then switches sides – from Tina’s work to Newt’s.

“I should take Stephen this weekend... to Louisiana.”

“Is he better now?”

“Yes, much. I don’t want him to get too used to the case.” Newt looks away, his eyes fixed on the little char marks of a bell pepper.

“You’re growing attached to him.”

He smiles and says nothing.

How long will you be gone for?” she asks.

“I don’t plan to stay very long... although I recently got in contact with someone who might have some magical creatures never before seen by those outside of the state. I’m strongly considering meeting him. And...” His words trail off a little, “I might have to go back to England.”

‘England’ meant that it would be some time before Tina would see Newt again. His visits around the world were of a mixed length of time: weeks here. Days somewhere else. But England was a code for ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back’. Tina’s stomach closes in on itself. She watches No-Maj children play an improvised game of hide and seek. Newt now stares at her; the loose hair strands that dance in the wind, her lips tightened whenever she’s stressed.

A ball rolls in front of the two. A blond boy runs up, his hands dramatically on his knees as he catches his breath. “Sorry, lady. Ma’am. Could I have the ball back?”

Tina's reverie breaks and her eyes crinkle small when she smiles. She lightly kicks it back to the boy. “Next time I keep it, kiddo.”

“I had been thinking,” Newt says to cut the silence between them. “I’ll also be in France before then. So my stay abroad might be even longer than expected. I wanted to ask: would you consider joining me in England?”

At this, Tina's head turns to face him.

"Permanently?”

“Oh, no. But I imagine that you leaving here for an overseas trip on a No-Maj ship does not exactly qualify as a short week-end holiday.”

“I’ve never taken a vacation before,” Tina says, more to herself.

At first, Newt is glad to hear that her tone is leaning towards yes, but the question of ‘Permanently?’ is now in the air and he wonders about the direction of their relationship if she was turned off by the idea of living in England. He never once considered residing in New York City as an immigrant. Their relationship is founded on sporadic visits and letters. Was it going to stay that way for the rest of their lives? 

Newt is lucky in his flexibility to travel. Tina, not so much.

He takes his eyes off the trees and looks at her. She looks at him too. They have the same question to ask. _What will happen to us in the future?_

The class difference between the two isn’t very clear at first. Newt is from generational money with added wealth from the success of his books but Tina, along with her sister, are defiantly independent women who still debate on apartment rent. Their success is much slower to appreciate, so Tina is not one to simply pack up her bags and sail to England on a whim.

It isn’t often that Newt and Tina argue. They lightly debate here and there about the strange wizarding laws in the United States or which school is better and why but it never dissolves into mindless bickering. But here at the park is the first time Newt and Tina truly discussed what exactly they imagined their paths to look like. The world is changing again – faster than ever, cities are expanding, Muggle/No-Maj technology is improving and with that more and more wizards are finding it harder and harder in the United States to stay underground and to stay safe when wizarding radicalism is also increasing. Being an Auror is now becoming more and more important for the livelihood of those in America. So how selfish is it to want Tina to request leave and go to England? How selfish is it to ask Newt to stay in the city instead? How selfish is it for them to continue a difficult long distance relationship?

Newt admits very clearly that he doesn’t intend to immigrate to New York City in the future. Tina admits on her end that she does not think that leaving her career, her sister and her responsibility is a good idea either.

The physical closeness between the two on the park bench suddenly feels like it opened to a large chasm. As if for reassurance, he takes her hand, both still oily from their sandwiches as they watch the trees and the No-Maj City Hall nearby. The subject remains unresolved when the clock strikes 1:00 PM signalling the end of Tina’s free hour.

They say good-bye in front of the Woolworth Building. Tina promises that she’ll meet him at the book signing when work is done.

“Where is it?”

“Fourth Avenue. It’s a new bookstore that opened last year.”

“Do you mean the Strand? That’s a No-Maj store.”

“I’ve been told by the owners that there’s a few floors for _other_ types of books.”

Tina’s eyebrows wrinkle. “A bookstore that sells both No-Maj and Wizarding books? That doesn’t sound... legal.”

Newt realises the error. “Oh, Tina, are you going to arrest the owners? They’ve only just opened up.”

Tina takes a deep breath. “Only you, Newt, could find yourself in these situations. Make sure you’re discreet. I didn’t hear anything.” She kisses his cheek and disappears into the MACUSA headquarters.

Newt stands for a moment in front of the entrance guard before he turns and walks away.

* * *

Newt has no reason to walk this far – no reason _really_ , to walk so far east until he happens upon Rivington Street. Newt doesn’t have too many friends in the city, discounting Tina, of course, and Queenie. New Yorkers are acquaintances who come and go in his life. The more solidified relationships, for better or worse, tend to be in Britain, where his old schoolmates are and where his family resides. However, his heart pangs with a deep sense of sadness, as he looks across the busy street to the even busier bakery in front of him.

He wants to enter, but he knows that Queenie is already endangering herself with the law in befriending Jacob Kowalski. Newt’s presence might re-ignite the scandal, putting all three of them and Tina at risk for arrest. Instead, he decides to be happy - happy at the bakery’s success from afar.

It does not last long.

Across the street, Jacob’s eyes meet his for a second, does a double take. Newt knows that he’s blown it. Should he run away? Should he play nonchalant? Should he play ignorant and pretend he doesn’t know Jacob? Instead, he stands there and Jacob walks out to meet him. As Jacob looks left and right for pedestrians, Newt sees the Murtlap scars still on his neck.

Jacob’s smile is broad and immediately he grabs Newt’s hand to shake it before he even stopped his walk.

“Mr. Scamander. Newt.”

“Mr. Kowalski.” The hair on Newt’s neck stands on edge and instead of looking at his old friend, his eyes look around the street for anyone who might be watching them.

“I knew it was you. I recognised this case before I recognised you. Would you like a pastry? On the house. Come on in. How long have you been in New York?” His broad hand claps Newt’s back and Newt is somehow pushed in the direction of the bakery.

“Not long – I – no, I just ate lunch –”

“Take it to go.”

“Thank you but -” Newt unexpectedly sees the pastries in the shape of the Niffler in a glass display and he stares at it with his mouth slightly agape. “This is a -”

Jacob slyly does not say anything. Instead he shrugs. “I don’t know – the ideas just come.”

Newt jumps from one case to another looking at each pastry-creature – Erumpents, Occamies. They’re all here. His fingers itch to touch them but his politeness keeps them back. The aroma within the bakery is overwhelming. Assistants move busily in the kitchen area and Jacob looks entirely like he belongs here. Newt cannot help but smile widely at this. He zigzags, squeezing between customers to look at this blueberry puff in the shape of a Mooncalf and that Nundu-like garlic sourdough something.

“You buyin’ anything, sir?” An older woman calls out to Newt as she shoves her way to the front of the cashier with bags of baked Cherry-Filled Creatures. “Don’t cut in line.”

“Mrs. Nowak – this man is a good friend of mine.” Jacob says as he moves back to behind the counter. “I give him a lot of credit for this bakery. Hey Henry, take over for me for a bit, would you?”

 _Ah, so much for discreetness,_ Newt thinks.

Mrs Nowak peeks over her glasses up to Newt. “I see. You must be a good man, then if Mr. Kowalski likes you.”

In the chaos, Jacob packs a few bags of good treats – pretzel sticks in the haphazardly shape of Bowtruckles being some of them and puts them in Newt’s arms. The two men move to the back of the bakery where they’re surrounded by bags of flour.

“You know, Newt, I was a little hurt that you didn’t come to see me every time you were in the city. Queenie always told me whenever you were here.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Kowalski. I wasn’t too sure if that was the safest decision.” It’s moments like this when he hates American laws.

“I understand,” Jacob says as he sits on bag. “But congratulations on your book. And good on you and Tina Goldstein getting together!”

Newt’s unsure how to take the compliment. He wants to apologise for being such a poor friend. He did frequently think of Jacob during his visits but it was only this afternoon after his talk with Tina did he think he might need a different perspective. However, here in Jacob’s bakery, he instantly felt foolish for thinking of just blabbing to Jacob after a long period of no communication.

Instead he comments very weakly, “I’m glad your bakery is doing so well.”

“I’ve got you to thank for, don’t I? Those creatures... I feel like I dream about them nearly every night. I’m just nervous that eventually customers won’t find them as amazing as I still do.”

An idea pops into Newt’s mind. “How long of a break do you have?”

“Er... well I own the place.”

Newt places his suitcase between them and pops the latches open. Jacob whirls around to ensure they aren’t being watched as Newt climbs in. Jacob stares with a shocked expression. All the memories rush back into his mind.

“Come on.” Newt calls from within the case.

Jacob enters with the same excitement he had as the first day they met.

It never will get old.

* * *

Newt chooses not to tell Jacob of his conversation with Tina. Instead he shows him the new additions in his case.

“Oh yeah, I remember these guys.” Jacob points to the Doxys. The Doxys nearly snap at his fingers.

“Careful, they’re venomous. I’m not entirely sure what the symptoms are for Muggles if they get bitten but I know it’s not very nice if you’re a Wizard.”

Jacob sees a large and incredibly ugly animal sitting atop a post with a half-eaten mouse in its jaws. “You have a... cat now?”

“That’s a Kneazle. Tina actually really likes those. Not particularly exotic but Tina had brought it home one day after she found it in... what do you call it? Hell’s Kitchen? Awful name for a neighbourhood.”

Jacob shrugs. “You get used to it.”

“His tail is missing. Poor thing. Now he’s fully healed but he doesn’t want to leave this case. I suppose that’s my fault for spoiling him.” Newt strokes the Kneazle, and like a real cat the Kneazle gives a guttural purr.

“You really like Ms. Goldstein, don’t you, Newt?”

Newt is caught off-guard by the question. Again, his relationship with Tina isn’t private but it isn’t something he casually talks about with others. Jacob really must be a special man to have tapped into Newt’s consciousness so easily.

“I do,” Newt says, avoiding Jacob’s gaze.

Seeing Newt’s discomfort in discussing the matter, Jacob pretends that something at the ceiling of the case catches his eye.

“You know," Jacob says, "there are days when I can see this place clearly in my head. And then there are days when I can’t remember anything at all. Thank God for Queenie – or else I would just think I’m insane.”

Queenie’s relationship with Jacob is incredibly romantic but extremely secretive. Tina purposely does not talk about it much with Newt unless they are in the privacy of her apartment or his case, not because of any disapproval on her part, but because she knows that the slightest possibility of anyone overhearing would endanger Queenie. Tina guesses that if Queenie and Jacob chose to marry one day, they would have to leave the United States for good.

Newt thinks that his own relationship with Tina is astoundingly lucky in comparison.

He curses at the ridiculous American laws and turns to Jacob.

“I’m leaving again this weekend, Mr. Kowalski. I’ll come back but I don’t know next when that is. But I promise next time I’ll visit your bakery as a real customer. And purchase your goods.”

“Newt there’s no need for that. You’re always welcome in my bakery as my friend.”

Newt smiles at this and then returns to his shed. He searches his shelves, pushing experiments, papers and plants aside. “At least let me give you a gift. I predict more editions will come but maybe this will help with some of your inspirations for now.”

He pulls out a clean thick copy of his book – leather-bound and neat with gold print.

Jacob takes it and flips through it. He looks like he wants to cry.

“I um...” Newt is unsure how to comfort Jacob. He takes a stick of charcoal from his desk. “I can draw some of the creatures for you – the ones you haven’t seen. You haven’t seen a Merperson, am I correct?”

* * *

The Strand is located on a busy street known as Book Row. It is a little difficult to spot at first, give the numerous bookstores that line the streets – big, small, multi-story, little stalls. The bookstore’s newness is revealed in its still modest size but already there is a growing customer base that walks in with empty hands and walks out with books in arms.

Unlike the other stores on the street where books are neatly lined along shelves, the Strand already presents a chaotic organization that very nearly hints of the Wizard who owns the store. Books reach the ceiling. Some books lie atop each other rather than stand side by side and there’s an aged quality in many of the books – unusual to see in a new store. It resembles more of a bored old man’s library than a place of business.

The handwritten note in Newt’s hand indicates: _At the back of the store. Three young ones along the Law Books for Non-Law Peoples aisle..._ and the rest of the note is blotted out.

So, Newt wanders to the back of the store, sees the _Law Books for Non-Law Peoples_ aisle where a group of young teenagers conveniently laying the floor along the bookshelves, posing as loiterers. Each of them has his or her nose deep in a book.

Newt clears his throat and steps over one teenager. “Sorry, I... I’m looking for Mr. Bass.”

Another teenager head pops over her book. “What makes you think we know Mr. Bass?”

“I had instructions to meet him, but my directions were a little... confusing.”

The teenagers ignore him.

Newt is tempted to just pull out his wand as proof of his Wizard identity, but he remembers Tina’s words: _be_ _discreet_. He already threw discretion out the window when he visited Jacob.

A large woman with a pink hat and a pink cloak squeezes her way into the aisle.

“Hello, children,” she greets.

They don’t respond.

“I’m looking for this book. I’m not sure if you have it. _Herbs for French Stews_?”

“Not here, lady,” says the same female teenager. “But you can probably find it if you keep walking down this way.”

“Thank you.” The large lady touches her hat and keeps walking over the teenagers. Newt takes the opportunity ( _“Yes, same book. I’m looking for Herbs for French Stews”_ ) to follow her closely down the aisle. From one end, it looks like a rather short row of books, but walking through it, it feels endless, like an Escher painting where books emerge out of nowhere continuing the aisle for metres and metres. He looks back and sees the teenagers in the far distance and the No-Maj customers who pay no attention to him.

He nearly trips on a set of stairs that appear suddenly. The world re-compresses itself and he makes his way upward to the third story of the building. At the top of the stairs, a young man whose hair is already beginning to thin, shakes Newt’s hand before Newt could even register the space. The large woman separates from him into the main room, where she grabs a free chair and sits.

“Mr. Scamander, Mr. Scamander. You’re right on time! Benedict Bass. Benjamin’s brother. Benjamin owns the downstairs section – really popular with the No-Maj’s yeah? This way. This way.” He takes Newt behind some thick curtains, which outline the perimeter of the room. “So glad you could make it. Your book. Excellent read. Excellent. I’m sure it’ll be a staple in homes around the world.”

Mr Bass’ weedy assistant trots alongside them.

“A glass of water,” Mr Bass says to his assistant. “For Mr. Scamander. His throat might dry up during his speech.”

“I’m sorry – speech?” Newt asks.

“Yeah, just a quick one. Introduces you, the book, the contents – gets people to know you, etcetera. It’ll be all right Mr. Scamander. Nice scarf by the way.”

“I hadn’t been informed that I had to write one.”

“You hadn’t? Well, you wrote the book. Just talk about the book.” Mr. Bass sees the nervous features on Newt’s face. “You’re not winning an award here, kid.”

 _I am definitely older than him,_ Newt thinks. “No, I hadn’t thought I did.”

“Then it’ll be all right.”

The crowd is not large but the room is so small that wizards and witches are squished against the windows and a few are right at his feet. A few stragglers walk in at the last minute but must linger by the staircase. Between the curtains, Newt searches for Tina, but he cannot spot a familiar light blue-grey coat.

Benedict Bass steps out and raises his arms. “Wizards, warlocks, witches. Goblins too – sorry, Dukel. No No-maj’s here, right? Only ‘maj’s’?” The crowd chuckles. “I’m very pleased to present this month’s guest. Newton Artemis Fido Scamander is very well known to us New Yorkers when several years ago Grindelwald walked under our noses. He has been called a hero, but to those abroad, he is much more known as a magizoologist and I’ve been told, he much prefers the title ‘magizoologist’ to ‘hero’ anyway. The past year he has presented us a book called _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ and today he is here to talk about it.” The bookstore’s floor shakes with thundering. Newt’s own heart beats madly.

_A speech?!?_

Mr. Bass’ assistant pushes him out onto the podium, where a copy of his book sits. He picks it up and shyly shows the crowd.

“My book.”

The crowd laughs though Newt assumes it’s because they think it’s a joke and not him acting like an absolute arse. Newt’s eyes shut tightly as if to block out a headache and the image of Tina appears in his head.

Them back at his hotel. Her putting on her socks. Her smiling at him. Their conversations in the dark. Their conversations in broad daylight. The day they visited Central Park as an official couple. The day they ate ice cream at below 0ºC weather. The look she gave him when he suggested a muggle movie. The title she threw at him at the harbour: _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.

“Hey, Mr. Scamander – what’s that in your pocket?”

His eyes open and he looks down. A young girl is pointing at Pickett, whose leafy head is sticking out of his pocket again.

“This is a Bowtruckle.”

All the children “ _Oooh!”_

“Do we have bowtruckles in New York?” asks another child.

“I’m afraid not,” he says. “Bowtruckles are mostly found in Europe. I found this one in Denmark.”

“They pick locks, right?” a Goblin asks and Newt is instantly reminded of Gnarlak.

“Well if that’s a Danish creature, what creatures have we got in America?” Though the question is directed towards him, the conversation bounces around in the room without him even responding.

“Remember, last time he had that thunderbird. You had a thunderbird right Mr. Scamander? Those are natives, I think.”

“What creatures do you think we should be looking out for here, Mr. Scamander?”

“Which ones are the dangerous ones?”

“My uncle came across a dragon once.”

“Oof, did he come out alive?”

“I hear some might breathe ice.”

“Don’t be silly, dragons only breathe fire.”

“A dragon ate my best friend’s dog once!”

“Sounds like a massive pest.”

“Dragons are rather misunderstood creatures.” Newt suddenly inserts in the cacophony of assumptions and questions. “They’re dangerous when provoked, but how would you respond if I suddenly entered your home and took your children?” That did not come out right. Everyone stares at him with a horrified look. Newt takes in another deep breath. “Or if I just walked through your house without permission? Creatures tend to work from instinct – I don’t think there’s anything fundamentally wrong with that. If you look at the creatures who cause the most damage in the world, you might find that they look rather familiar.”

“He’s talking about humans,” one woman mumbles to another.

Newt smiles. “Yes, humans.” The words come much more easily this time. “We have the very fortunate ability to learn very quickly. We can heal others. We can travel far distances and adapt to drastic environments. Creatures only can do so much. Take the Antipodean Opaleye. I came across one in New Zealand. The first time we met, she was angry. She blew fires in my direction and I couldn’t get past her. Opaleyes aren’t usually very aggressive.”

He glances up and sees Tina, standing far in the back. Her collar is up. Her hat is on her head. With the window behind her, she looks astonishingly radiant, like a drop of brightness in a sea of confusion.

“And then I eventually learnt that I had wandered very wrongly into her territory. Her eggs had been stolen once before by unknowing No-Maj’s and I was like a threat to her new nest. _I_ was the intruder in her environment.”

“So what did you do?” asks the girl in front of her. “Did you tame her?”

Newt’s fingers skim the edges of his own book. It still feels unreal that the copy in front of him is a result of years of research. “You can’t ever tame dragons, even if you tried hard. But you shouldn’t anyway. To me, they’re beautiful as they are. Not all creatures are tameable, but not one of them looks out to harm humans for the sake of harming humans. Not the way that other humans harm each other. But with this Opaleye, I think she and I came to an understanding and we got rather used to each other. Whenever I am next in New Zealand I’d like to go back to see her. If you look at her skin in the morning light, she’s the most beautiful creature you’d ever come across – a skin made of pearls.”

The bookstore visitors are in love. They ask more questions and Newt is relieved to see that he can answer nearly all of them. Mr Bass is right in requesting water as this must be the most he has ever talked at once. He shows them some of the smaller more docile creatures from his case. Newt expected to only be there for an hour or so but when he looks at the clock against the wall and see that two hours have passed yet they haven’t gotten to the actual signing part of the event, he worries that Tina might be bored. He sees her still standing against the window – the sun is now lower and the sky behind her is with a pink-ish tinge.

The signing goes rather quickly. His signature is becoming freer and looser and because of the continuous repetition of _open book, sign, close book, next_ , it becomes less and less legible.

An unusual copy lands in front of him. It’s a very used version with bookmarks, scuffs and folds on the pages from constant reading. Newt looks up at sees Tina standing above him with a wide smile. It’s the book he had personally given her on his second visit to New York City.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hello,” he responds. He shakes his dominant hand to loosen up the tension in his fingers and writes.

* * *

“I thought you did rather well.” Tina holds Newt’s case for him as he adjusts his coat. They stand outside the bookstore, away from the No-Maj visitors who come and go at the entrance. Snow is falling so Newt covers his neck with his Hufflepuff scarf.

“I rambled. The Phoenix story was rather unnecessary.” He takes the case back from Tina and they begin to walk.

“That was my favourite.”

“You didn’t like my Opaleye tale?” he teases.

“I appreciate the meaning behind it but I’m still not sure how much I like being compared with a creature with scales.”

He laughs openly, a rarity for Newt.

They walk in the north direction through Union Square Park, watching their footprints break into the virgin snow. A group of No-Maj student protesters gather close to the trees, with a leader standing upon his soapbox. For a split second, Mary Lou Barebone crosses Newt’s mind when she addressed him with _“Are you a seeker?”_

“Tina, I must apologise,” he says as they pass the group. “You must think me extraordinarily self-centred to want that you leave your life in New York behind to be with me in England. Your sister needs you. Your city needs you more than ever, especially now.”

“Newt, don’t be silly. I didn’t think you were self-centred.”

“Still, I want to -”

“No, really,” she cuts him off. “I don’t want you to say you are sorry. I want to be with you too. And if you’re self-centred then what am I for wondering if you might stay here in New York with me?” She continues, “I think I’m scared.”

Tina has an unusual expression on her face, one that Newt has never seen. He wants to keep looking at her and examining her to figure it out, but his own attention is split with just watching where he’s going. Tina is usually strong with a good heart but she rarely admits her own insecurities. “I’ve never left this city - unless you count Ilvermorny, but on summer vacations I would be back in New York. Ever since my parents passed away, my whole life has been to make sure Queenie and I would be together and study well at school and become and Auror and only an Auror right after graduating....”

Their walk slows a bit as they pass a few apartments. A jazz song plays conveniently from an open window and Tina’s head instinctively turns to it. Tina doesn’t normally dance, though Newt has occasionally seen her loosen up with the Charleston in his hotel room. Out here in the open however, he sees her head swaying lightly as if the balled knot in her chest is unwinding slowly.

 _"You need a giver."_ Queenie's words echo loudly in his head. Tina is that giver and he knows that. She's given him so much. She's given Queenie so much. She's given the city so much and American wizards so much. For once, he wants her to be selfish. He wants her to have fun and to find her own happiness. If that is within the borders of New York City, so be it.

“Tina,” he finally says. “I would like to show you a unicorn one day. I want to show you where it lives. I want to take you to many places where many creatures live, if you allow me to. If you want to stay in New York, I’ll show you all the creatures you can find in New York. I’ll stay with you here. Because I want to. Not because you want me to.”

Tina stops and they stand, somewhere on 21st St next to some random bodega, with the snow falling on Newt’s messy hair and Tina’s hat. She smiles and her eyes crinkle in that familiar way whenever she is truly happy.

“I want to go with you, Newt and see this unicorn. Wherever you are. China. Brazil. Sweden. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next month. But when I go with you, I will go with you because I want to. Not because you want me to.”

Newt can’t help but kiss her then.

* * *

They apparate into Newt’s hotel room, nearly stumbling into the hotel desk. Tina laughs as she clings to his arms.

“Right, one second.” Newt puts his case in the corner and pats it. “Please stay still.”

He returns to Tina, who stands carefully at the edge of the bed.

“Umm... boots.” He kicks his shoes off and moves to hang his coat. Tina grabs onto his sleeve and turns him to face her, immediately calming him down. Newt gazes into her brown eyes, his breath deep and loud. She melts as she returns his hungry stare. Newt is not much taller than Tina, barely an inch, yet he seems to tower over her now with a seriousness that she never sees outside the bedroom.

He kisses her, lightly at first as they did on the streets, then deeper, then desperate. He feels her wanting more as her hands move upwards, along his chest to wrap around his neck. He walks towards the bed, holding her tightly by the waist. Their lips disconnect as she falls first onto the mattress. He kneels over her with his knees bracing her legs on either side. He undoes his bowtie and peels his coat off, carefully this time.

A little squeak. Pickett.

“Excuse me.” He lifts himself off Tina with a groan and his right hand moves to the coat’s breast pocket. “Pickett, I... need a bit of privacy again tonight.”

Tina removes her shoes and socks and watches him move to from the bed to his case.

He opens his case, and with some persuasion, places Pickett inside and locks the case once more. He turns to face Tina again, the now Pickett-free coat draped on his arm. His hair is dishevelled, more so than usual. Unconsciously, Tina removes her own hat from her head.

“No, let me.” He takes the hat from her hands and places it on the desk. “You’re... quiet this time.” It’s true – usually they are flirtatious with each other. Sometimes clumsily so. They’re so physically familiar with each other at this point, however that Newt is unafraid of her body and his own nudity.

Tina grins. “I’m just thinking about how wonderful you are.” She kisses him, re-igniting the fire in them both. She struggles to remove her own coat and throws it to the side. He equally drops his own to the floor. She leans back and lies on the bed, her arms once again around his neck as he hovers above her.

He pauses and barely withdraws to catch his breath a little but nips at her top lip, her jaw, behind her ear. She breathes heavily in response. Newt's skin is on fire. Tina's fingers scramble to find his waistcoat buttons. Her mouth catches his again and she bites at his bottom lip earning a soft groan from him. It registers in his mind briefly, that they are lit only by the lights outside their window. The neon sign ‘HOTEL’ flickers, shining white and blue on their skin.

* * *

Tina is the first to awake in the middle of the night, her thighs sore and her body sticky. She shifts and feels a weight over her stomach – Newt’s arm. He’s usually a light sleeper, as if attentive ears are useful whenever he might be in the jungle or out in the desert, but tonight, he’s positively knocked out. She slips away and pads quietly to the bathroom to clean up.

When she finishes, she stands by the doorway. The hotel sign continues to blink brightly from outside and she’s tempted to close the curtains to block out the headache-inducing light until she sees a miniature version of her copy of Newt’s book on the floor next to her coat. She had shrunk it to fit into her pocket. She taps it with her wand with a quiet ‘ _Engorgio_ ’ and kneels beside the bed beneath the bright neon light. She opens it to the page on unicorns, then to the front of the book where Newt's handwritten scribblings are.

_Tina,_

_I love you._

_Forever yours,  
_ _Newt._

Tina touches the ink. The deep imprint of the quill into the paper with a blot at the ‘I’, as if he had to find the courage to write out the full sentence. No fancy words. No poetry.

“I really do.”

Tina nearly screams as she jumps up. Newt watches her with humoured eyes, his head still on his pillow.

“Mercy, you frightened me,” she says, gripping her chest.

“You’re an Auror, Tina.”

“Aurors are not typically attacked naked.” She covers her chest and her lower half with her hands as if they had not had sex only hours ago.

Newt stretches, his body unfurling in the darkness. His hand pats lightly at the space beside him and Tina crawls back into bed and curls against him. He pulls the sheets and blankets to cover them both.

“I do too,” she mumbles into his neck.

“Hm?”

“Your book.”

“Hm....” But he’s smiling in her hair.

He holds her tightly and they drift back asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse the anachronisms. I had done quick research what New York City was like in the 1920s, but creative changes were made at several points. Apologies to the Strand Bookstore for messing around a little with their legacy.
> 
> I had written more on their bedroom scene but I felt like it was a little out of place in this particular fiction. I had too much fun with it. I might present it in some separate side story someday.


End file.
